


His Date

by articulatez



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 07:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18846328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/articulatez/pseuds/articulatez
Summary: Rotti takes Shilo out of her house for an afternoon... and sees if she has anything in common with her dearly departed mother. Written in 2013.





	His Date

He’d loved her once. The ring on her hand spoke of her devotion, and the fool blinded by that hope believed in her fidelity and their shared vision of the vision of the world. Oh, Marni, why did you leave me, he often agonized.

Then there was Shilo. “Shilo, your mother was once very dear to me,” and then the girl he’d only seen in pictures was in arm’s reach. Fondly, he’d looked at her, and he spoke to her in his most dulcet tones, not wanting to frighten the little bird. She was quiet and hesitant, and the frail dear had come to life and smiled in sunshine at Mag’s presence. It had been his pleasure and his goal to earn Shilo’s favor.

He was a gentleman, and in spite of her age, she was clearly a lady, not cheap trash who could be bought easily; so unlike his ungrateful leech of a daughter.

Mag approached the stage with tranquil confidence, a woman to the gallows of her own free will, and her proud, pleased smile was for the crowd’s benefit and not her own. As he stood beside her, he wondered if her shine had ever been true, or if her earnest way dimmed the moment her hand signed the contract and signed her life away.

Shilo smiled at them. She stood out in the crowd, a lighthouse’s penetrating beam. It cut through the darkness that he’d been saddled with: the three women in his life who had betrayed him through abandonment and untimely expiration; his three misfit, degenerate children who insisted on wasting his money and goodwill. Shilo pleased him, and for all his wealth and power, very little truly pleased the monumental Rotti Largo.

He touched Mag’s shoulder and brought her close, his disguised leer for Mag’s benefit and not the crowd’s. They thought there was nothing wrong, and why should they? He was Rotti Largo! His image of classic nobility and honor was carefully crafted and upheld by the media in his pocket.

They could not imagine what happened behind closed doors: her initial outright refusals that yielded to hesitance. She still pleased him when he urged her—demanded, more like. He owned her life, after all. He held her contract.

Rotti motioned to his henchwomen; they gripped Shilo by the arms, turned her, and marched away. They had their orders. Once he was done entertaining the crowd, he would collect Shilo. The crowd was obedient, and he was all prepared to introduce the newly reformed Amber Sweet… and he was humiliated. Never again. Shaking with rage, he pushed aside the flashy, excited reporters. The ungracious, peasant crowd parted for him, creating an aisle for him to storm down. That filth. That awful disappointment of a daughter. She was her mother’s daughter. Amber and Pavi were both barely worth speaking of, yet the world demanded it of him. If he could undo the births of all of his children, he would.

The world thought he would leave his legacy to one of those low circling vultures. He’d sooner light his wealth on hot coals—at least that would be faster. As it was, they wasted the estate on trifling matters, on nothing. He kept his impending death a secret. His children has not earned the right to know, with their sordid behaviors.

Rotti leaned heavily on his cane as he approached the tent. There his heart was delivered a blow; hastily, his fright was masked with cool control.

Shilo was alone and on her knees, gasping and choking. She sought something in her bag. For now, what was the harm in granting her easy relief? He stooped and removed the bag from her fumbling hands, letting her choke for a moment before uncapping and giving the girl her medicine. She choked it down. Her eyes were full of perfect gratitude.

“Shilo. How are you feeling?”

Shilo got to her feet, a bit shaky. “Okay.” She coughed a few times before her phone rang, and she immediately became a wreck. “Oh no, it’s my dad! It’s my medicine reminder, it alerted him. I’ll be found out.”

He laid a hand over hers. “Tell him you’re fine and not to worry. Your father won’t know otherwise,” he soothed.

“Thank you” came the quiet voice, and she placated her father’s worries with Rotti’s words, and quickly got off the phone. Rotti’s arm was around her back, hand on shoulder. He no longer felt angry.

The crowd was chanting about Zydrate, making civilized intercourse— _social_ intercourse, that is—impossible. He scowled.

“Shilo, would you care to accompany me to my tent?” he asked kindly.

“Y-your tent?”

“Yes. The Square is mine, and there is a place for me to be alone.” Away from his kids. From whores flinging themselves at fans. From fans and protesters. “You could come with me.”

“I- I don’t know. Dad will want me home,” she stammered.

“Say yes,” he entreated. “There are important matters to discuss.”

She gave in. He took her arm and led her out of the surgical tent, through the crowd, with a wave, and to his large tent, clearing out the chatting occupants outside with a glare. He’d rather liked having her on his arm, and they made a charming pair, as he and any woman of class did. The rats who passed as his followers ate up any romantic drivel, true or not. This was his private world, and those who intruded were guards or relatives.

There was his bed, there the couch, a mirror, some of Marni’s possessions that he’d had brought in special for Shilo. The entire room had been refurbished for her benefit. For his, too, really. She gasped and looked all around, and her eyes settled on the full mirror, the divider where a lady could change, the mannequins dressed in corsets and bloomers, dresses and veils.

“Your mother’s. I thought you would enjoy them and had them brought in.”

“Oh, wow! You did? For me?” Her eyes sparkled. She walked carefully to one of the mannequins and ran her hand along the satin. “These are beautiful.” Turning to face him, she smiled. “Thank you. Can I… can I try these on? I want to get out of these clothes.” Immediately after the words left her lips, she blushed. So she did have some grasp of the concept of innuendo. He chuckled.

“You may keep them, if you’d like. Certainly you can try them on, while we talk.” He waved his hand to the space behind the divider.

This was money well spent, just to see her smile, to see her blush and fumble. He could see Marni in her, and he could see the individual that was Shilo Wallace. Rotti wanted her. She chose a pale pink corset and bloomers, went behind the divider. Her clothes were laid over the top. He could not spy a glimpse of white flesh through the metal, just see her shadow on the wall, hear her fumble with clasps and ties.

“As you know, GeneCo is in need of an heir.”

The noise stopped. Her head peeked around the divider. She held the corset up over her juvenile chest. “Everyone knows that.”

“What would you say if I told you I was looking outside of the company?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Why would you do that?” She disappeared behind the screen again and grunted over fastening the corset. “You’ve got three heirs.”

“Three disappointments,” he corrected. “I believe I’ve found a suitable replacement.”

“Who, me?” She came out, a vision in tight undergarments. It was an effort to keep his smile easy and his eyes on her face. He managed, if only just. She was dainty. Exquisite. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“Am I? Why, Shilo, you’re beautiful. Beautiful like your mother,” he said, causing her to look down and smile shyly. “What else do you have in common with her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity. Indulge an old man,” he said, to which she replied, “You aren’t old, Mr. Largo. Dad says I sing like her. She read a lot, too. He says she’d be proud of me; I’m not sure why.”

“Kind like her, too.”

Shilo wavered on her feet. “Ooh, I’m queasy.” She touched her stomach and then her forehead. “Do I feel hot to you?” she asked. He gently pressed the palm of his hand there.

“No, but perhaps you should sit down.” He steered her to the bed, let her sink down on the sheets. “Better?”

“Can I have some water?” she asked. Unused to following someone else’s directions, it took him a moment to unfreeze and find her a bottle. She took a few sucks of the contents and left it on the floor.

“May I sit with you?” She nodded and moved away from him when he did so. “I’m rather fond of you, Shilo.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You are, as best I can tell, intelligent and…” He could not put it into words. She _was_. A happiness, a delight to be near, an invigorating point of light that he was not eager to let go of. What was heartening was how well she responded to him so far.

“Pretty?” she suggested quietly.

“A pretty face.” He touched her cheek; she looked at him, her eyes searching for something. “A pretty girl.” Shilo did not retreat a centimeter when he kissed her, responded with silence and no motion, stunned. “Would you like to make me very happy, Shilo?”

“I- I guess I would. Does this have to do with GeneCo?”

“No. No, this is another matter.” He leaned in to nuzzle her neck and touch the small of her back, circle gently. “It could make you happy, too.”

She did not move a muscle, but nor did she tense up. “What?”

He said in her ear, “Let me show you” and checked her reaction. She was hesitant but mumbled “okay” and he could work with that. “Lie back on the bed.” He laid her down, head on the pillow, and leaned over her. “How is that?”

“Fine, I guess? How is it supposed to be?” she asked.

Fine was not good enough, he decided. Not at all. “Did you not like it when I kissed you?”

“Wasn’t expecting it.” She reached up to touch his shirt absent-mindedly. He wanted to put a smile back on her lovely visage. “You could do it again, since I know you’re going to now.” Carefully, still gentle, he did so. It was sweet Shilo who made it a bit rougher, her mouth a bit open, making a soft noise. Meanwhile, one of his hands crept to her breast, pushed up by the corset, and roved over the soft skin. Shilo gasped and tore from the kiss to watch what he was doing. A thumb flicked where he could see her nipple was. She shuddered and grasped his shoulder.

“You enjoyed that?”

A whimper. He toyed with the laces on her corset. “I have an idea.” He reached for his cane and revealed that it was two: cane and sword. A startled gasp. Hands shifting in the sheets, fingers gripping in fright. He stood over her and showed his finesse, cutting through her clothes whilst leaving her pale and shivering skin untouched. “They can be easily mended,” he assured her, and helped her hands remove the clothes from beneath her. The sword was sheathed, the cane moved aside.

Then Shilo realized she was all but naked, her arms protectively covering her chest. “Oh, let me see,” he said, and she wasn’t sure. Did it anyway, let him see. Her breasts were small, pert, and pale nipples. He pinched one softly, rolled it between his fingers until it puckered, and then he teased with his thumb.

“That… that was cool, what you did with the sword,” she said between minute gasps.

“Thank you. It’s an art.” And his hand travelled down her stomach and, before she could question it, down into her underpants. “Do you know… have you tried this?” Confused, she shook her head. “Ah. There is a place to touch women that feels good, so I am told. And a method. Tell me if you like it.”

He stroked her, found her ready for him. “Open,” he said, and she shifted, moved her legs, spread them enough for ease of access. When he went on, brushing, teasing, she gasped, said his name.

“You’ve not done this before?”

She shook her head no, shuddering, plumes of color spreading from her chest up to her cheeks. Rotti slid a finger into her core, marveling at how she could keep her cool by biting her lip. That façade was destroyed at the second finger, when she cried out.

“Hurts… hurts,” she panted. “Ooh, but…”

“Yes?” he asked, curling his fingers inside her, not otherwise moving them.

“Keep… You’re in me,” she said, whimpered.

He was amused. “I am. Should I stop?”

“I don’t, I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “No,” Shilo decided, squirming beneath him to find a more comfortable position. Her hips angled up, the thighs clenching around his hand. “You’re in me! Let me get used to it.”

“You mean.. not to do this?” he said, thumbing her clit, making a whimper come out of the poor girl. His hand moved between her legs, the fingers motioning fast and faster, and she grew wetter at his every motion. “My goodness, Shilo.”

“Ah- ah, please, please,” she begged. His hand withdrew and patted her thigh. She sat up. “Why’d you stop?”

“There’s more to this fun. I can make it better,” he told her.

“Better than that?” she said dubiously. “Oh, but that hurt. I’m sore there.” She squeezed her legs together.

“This will hurt, too. See, Shilo, I want to be in you.” Taking her hand, he rested it on the rise in his trousers, had her feel the insistent motion through the fabric. “Would you let me?”

“I don’t know,” she softly said. “Is it bigger than your fingers?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I’d say so. And it will be uncomfortable before you, ah, accommodate me. After that, you’ll enjoy it,” he promised.

She laid back and moved her underwear down to her ankles and spread her legs, blushing. “I want to enjoy it. I feel like… like something’s going to happen, above where you were touching. It feels incredible. Could you help me? Please?”

The girl had never been treated to an orgasm. Rotti Largo would be the first to do so. Pleased and amused at once, he kissed her soundly, pushing his tongue into her mouth, unsurprised when she, hesistant at first, allowed him to explore, touch the roof of her mouth, rub against her tongue. He sucked on her lip.

Rotti’s left hand undid his zip and lowered his trousers and underwear down his hips enough to expose his erect member. “Tell me if it’s too much for you,” he said, and spread her lips, started to enter her. They both moaned, hers strangled and bright, her body stiffening, going rigid from the pain. He slid in the rest of the way. It helped that she was so wet. “Too much?” he grunted, and she began to nod, then changed her mind and shook no, it wasn’t.

Slender legs wrapped his waist and urged him on. He moved inside her, reveled at her tight, warm muscles squeezing him. He informed her, “You feel wonderful.”

“S-so do you,” she whispered, and moaned. “Ow uh oh God, Mr. Largo. Didn’t know… didn’t know this existed.”

“No, and you wouldn’t.” He stroked her stomach and then her cheek. There wasn’t enough energy for too many words, simply to move within the girl at a blinding speed to make her gasp, to make him seize up, until her hips made motions of their own, and her hands were tight on his shoulders when her body clenched and the hips went up, up, fast and then slow, a few last pumps and she was limp, but he continued to move, furiously, not caring if she bruised, not caring that a second climax was approaching her, judging from the gasps that eventually followed his movements.

He came inside of her, at last finding that release. Only afterward did it occur to him that he ought to have used something to prevent an accidental pregnancy, and right after that realized that his treatments had rendered that impossible.

Yes, his treatments. Because he was a dying man, and Shilo pulled from him and arched on the bed, sleepy and sticky and naked. Had he more time, he’d have liked to have her at his side, to go to bed and wake up with her, to marry her. She’d have made a fine and loyal fourth wife. After all, he’d given her that first sexual experience.

He offered her a robe, a wet washcloth, her original clothes back, water, and told her, “I was wrong. You’re entirely different from your mother,” he said, and meant it.

 


End file.
